


Theatrical Release

by kitana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Costume Kink, Costumes, M/M, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-27
Updated: 2009-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitana/pseuds/kitana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's getting obnoxious, how hung up he's becoming about Sam, but Sam is his brother and that, well — that's something Dean can't really run away from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theatrical Release

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is 16 and Dean is 20.

At sixteen, Sam has been through so many interests and phases that Dean has had trouble keeping up with which hobby his little brother is into now. He gets a hard reminder though when, on Sam's way out of the tiny rented apartment kitchen, Sam elbows him and says, "Don't miss my play tonight, Dean."

"Play?" Dean parrots back, a little dumbfounded. When did Sam get into arts and theatre?

"Yeah, duh, you know, the one that's tonight? Where I'm Shakespeare's Romeo?" Sam is giving him one of those looks, the kind that accuses Dean of being a bad, not-listening big brother. Dean gets those looks more often than not as of late.

"Oh, right. Seven?" Dean ventures, not really sure what the hell he's talking about, but he seems to hit the nail on the head because Sam smiles then, nods. Sam is out of the door less than five minutes later.

Dean grins as he scoops up their cold cereal bowls and drops them in sink. Of course Sam would be Romeo, he thinks, amused. Sam is all lean barely-defined muscle now from their on-the-go styled life, not to mention that he's has sprouted up to Dean's height in the last year and is still going strong. Sam's hair won't stay out of his eyes and he won't let John near it to cut it, yet it's what all the chicks dig right now, so yeah, Dean thinks, of course Sam is Romeo.

Dean wastes his day away flipping through daytime TV channels and waiting for any kind of word from John on his latest hunt. John has only been gone for three days, not any incredibly long length of time, but John is the only thing that keeps Dean's thoughts in check these days, even though the older man doesn't know it.

Sam doesn't know it either, the way he makes Dean's dick start twitching with just a glance that isn't supposed to be sexy in the least, but totally, totally is. Every time Sam licks his lips while talking, or stretches up and bares a strip of smooth stomach, Dean has to turn the other way and think about that one senior high school teacher with the saggy arms. It's getting obnoxious, how hung up he's becoming about Sam, but Sam is his brother – and that, well, that's something Dean can't really run away from.

It's with that thought in mind that at 6:30, Dean slides into the Impala and pulls off, making a beeline for Sam's high school. Dean gets there with about 5 minutes to spare and is ushered into the school auditorium hurriedly; being a few minutes late wouldn't have bothered him in the least, but Sam's a stickler for that kind of thing and if Dean were even two minutes late, somehow, Sam would know. And he'd be pissed to all hell about it.

Dean shakes his head and slips into a seat at the end of the middle row of the auditorium. How he puts up with Sam's teenage moodiness is beyond him. The lights dim dramatically as the play starts. Dean knows a bit about Shakespeare since English teachers everywhere seem nuts about the guy. Despite what anyone thinks, Dean knows the story of Romeo and Juliet like the back of his hand -- and really, these days, who doesn't? The first couple of scenes are boring, so his mind wanders all over the place until he catches a glimpse of Sam striding out onto the stage, towering over everyone else. Dean shifts in his seat, all his attention now focused on Sam, dressed in the classic tunic and puffy-sleeved shirts of the Renaissance era.

Sam's pants outline his legs sinfully and the cape around his shoulders swings in a way that should be campy, but isn't. Whoever designed the costume, God, that person is good. Dean has never had a hard-on so fast in his life and he crosses his legs with a glance at the time. He's got another 45 minutes to go with Sam prancing around in practically skin-tight pants.

His cock is so insistent in his jeans that Dean barely pays attention to the rest of the play; by the time it's over and all of the students are bowing to the clapping audience, Dean is about ready to explode. He bolts as soon as the lights start coming up, and doesn't stop until he's back behind the safety of the Impala's steering wheel.  
With deep breaths Dean calms down enough by keeping firm in his mind that saggy-armed teacher. It's been two years and ten states since Dean's seen the woman last, yet she still manages to make him shudder.

Ten minutes later, Sam is opening the passenger side door and settling into the seat, costume and all. Dean nearly chokes, but manages to play it cool as Sam tosses his schoolbag into the backseat and asks, "Did a good job, huh?"

"Awesome," Dean says, sounding more put-together than he feels. "Best rendition I've seen, Sammy."

Sam flushes at the praise involuntarily, not even minding that Dean called him 'Sammy'; Dean drags his eyes away from Sam's flushed cheeks and focuses on getting them back on the road and driving far, far away from the school. He turns up some Metallica when they pull out of the parking lot.

Dean's gaze flickers back and forth between Sam and the road. Sam's not looking at him, just staring out of the window peaceably.

"They letting you keep the costume?" Dean says finally, turning down the music a notch.

"Oh," Sam responds, as if he wasn't aware he was still wearing it. "Yeah, said everyone could keep 'em, since this'll be the last time they have a formal drama class."

Dean wants to reply, 'probably cause people couldn't stop popping boners around you,' but he doesn't. Too close to what his thoughts are really like. Instead he says, "Right." and leaves it at that.

Only another ten minutes pass before they're back at the ramshackle apartment they currently call home. Sam gets up the stairs first, taking them two at a time. Dean follows and tries to keep his mind anywhere except the firm Sam ass that bounces beneath the cape in front of him. Jesus, he's getting so much worse.

Sam kicks off his shoes and throws his schoolbag and cape on the floor near the door, then flops onto the old couch they salvaged from some garage sale for fifteen bucks. It more or less tries to swallow Sam whole while he fishes for the TV remote, and that's a normal enough thing that Dean snickers at Sam before going to the kitchen.

"Hungry?" he calls out, and Sam, like any teenage boy with a bottomless pit for a stomach, answers with an enthusiastic yes.

Dean grabs a bag of barbecue chips and joins Sam on the couch. Sam promptly grabs the bag from Dean and starts munching. Sam is less innocently sexy with barbecue staining his mouth, but only marginally. Dean really wants to lean over and lick the taste off of Sam's lips. He doesn't even realize he's gotten close enough to do so until Sam says his name softly, like a question, and his trance snaps.

"Sorry, Sam," Dean says, fumbling to take the bag of chips and back off to a safe distance. He gives Sam a sheepish grin, and then turns his gaze to Wheel of Fortune. "Guess theatre makes me really hungry."

"Uh huh," Sam says skeptically, but he lets Dean off the hook. For all of five minutes. "You were gonna do it, weren't you? Kiss me, I mean."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean says absently, then seconds later, "wait, what were you talking about?"

"You kissing me," Sam says plainly, like it's the most obvious conclusion in the world, and when Dean turns to look at him, Sam is right next to him, still clad as Romeo, decimating Dean's personal space. Damn.

Dean hasn't been thinking straight for weeks and now, now there's nothing to stop him, because Sam is taking the first step, pressing barbecue-stained lips to Dean's. Dean can't help himself anymore -- he licks the barbecue flavouring right off of Sam's lips. Sam opens up for Dean’s kisses, kissing back sloppy and inexperienced but enthusiastic and mimicking every motion of Dean's mouth, even biting back when Dean nips at his lips.

Dean pulls away abruptly, dropping his head back against the couch. "Goddamnit, Sam," he groans, unable to stop the guilt that is creeping in and tingeing the edges of his lust. "Can't be doing this."

Dean's cock twitches when Sam climbs into his lap and slides arms around his neck, sinking them further into the couch.

"Why not?" Sam says, and the innocence that Sam has somehow managed to keep half-way in tact rears its head. Dean's got no right to be even more turned on, but he is.

"Brothers don't fuck, Sammy," Dean says, and Sam just gets this lopsided grin on his face.

"Be Juliet, then."

Dean doesn't get the chance to ask Sam if he's on crack or something equally mind-bending because Sam kisses him again, hard enough to send a pulse of desire straight to his cock. Screw it.

Dean tangles one hand into Sam's hair and devours Sam's mouth until Sam is rubbing himself against Dean and gasping into Dean's mouth. Dean's other hand digs into Sam's hip and rocks up against Sam, groaning when he feels precome dampen his jeans.

Sam is practically riding Dean's cock through his pants and it does nothing except make Dean buck up against Sam, too far gone to even stop long enough to get their pants off. Dean's cock is throbbing and he thinks that if he doesn't come soon he'll die of suffocation because he can't stop kissing Sam, and Sam can't stop kissing back.

Sam makes a noise somewhere between a groan and whine, hips stuttering as he gets dangerously close to coming, fingers tightening in the back of the couch. Dean swallows up every noise Sam makes, feeling Sam come apart on his lap, moaning, soaking the inside of his Romeo pants. Dean can't hang on anymore; he comes on the spot with Sam's tongue in his mouth and Sam still rocking in his lap, wringing out every drop of pleasure he can.

Sam goes lax against Dean, breathing deeply. Dean can still feel Sam trembling a little against him, and he grins a little despite himself. He's got to be a sick fuck, being utterly pleased about making his younger brother cream his pants, but right now, Dean doesn't even care.

He'll deal with whatever comes his way.


End file.
